The Gate of Sorrows (60 page)

Maybe the power she lent me is growing and becoming part of me. Maybe the more I use it, the more I’ll be able to possess it.

But Galla’s answer was immediate. “It is not strange, in this place.” She walked slowly to the edge of the roof. “We are on sacred ground, a sanctum of my making. My power is everywhere here. Anyone entering this space gains the power to see words. To see the Shadow.”

“Are you saying this isn’t the tea caddy building?”

“It is not.”

Kotaro tried to get up, but his legs were so unsteady that he had to crawl to where Galla stood. He looked over the edge of the building.

Immediately beyond the rooftop was a void. The warren of streets and buildings that should have been below him was nowhere to be seen. That explained why the cityscape farther away looked so bizarre, as though seen through a lens that distorted spatial relationships. Buildings that were closer were too close; those farther away looked too distant.

“I can no longer use that building. I have been too long in your region. Its reality hinders me.”

“But it’s a special place for me.”
That’s why I made it a point to have Makoto meet me there.

The tea caddy building had been the setting for Kotaro’s transformation. It had shown him the way to things that were real but did not exist. It had changed his world. It was the birthplace of Kotaro, hunter of evil. His place of power.

“I cannot share your sentimentality,” Galla said drily. “I also have no reason to stop you. But I warn you: you would do well to avoid that place from now on.”

The twin blades glowed above her head. “My weapons are strong now.”

“Are you finished here, then?”

“Not yet. There is more I must do before I can vanquish the Sentinel at the Gate of Sorrows.”

“Then we should—” Kotaro caught himself midsentence.

Three of the murders were each committed by a different person. Each mutilation was carried out in imitation of another killer’s work. The simplest conclusion was that the Serial Amputator never existed. He was a fantasy, an urban legend. Akita and Mishima would probably prove to be the work of different killers with different motives as well.

In the Tomakomai case, the victim’s right toe was missing. That was the beginning. At first they called him Toe-Cutter Bill. As more people died, he became the Serial Amputator, and the legend took on a life of its own. To reveal the truth of the three killings would be to dismantle the legend.

“I’ll solve the other murders. Shigenori will help me. We’ve come this far, we can’t stop now. Whoever committed them is sure to have strong craving.”

“No one compels you to do this,” Galla said.

“It’s not an obligation. I want to.”

As he got to his feet, he had a vision of Ayuko’s face, her ivory skin and jet-black pupils. The vision left a gentle warmth before it disappeared. He even felt the touch of her hand. He’d never actually touched her, yet he was sure what he felt was real.

The legend is evil. You must bring it down, but don’t lose your bearings along the way. Your thirst for justice can blind you to the harm done by lies and violence. Don’t yield to the craving, Kotaro.

Galla was saying something. Kotaro shook his head and shut his vision of Ayuko away in his heart. His eyes were brimming.

“Um … what?”

Galla stood there looking down at him. She swept her hair behind her back, turned, and walked away. The studs in her boots made a metallic sound. She stopped at the opposite edge of the roof, her back still turned.

“Of those I encountered here—the first whose craving I harvested—some wept with loneliness, some were wracked with shame for the blunders they committed. Some were filled with despair, others begged me for forgiveness. I took their cravings, and with them the source of their suffering. Their very bodies brought power to my blade and they ceased to exist in this world. This was their wish. And yet … their cravings seemed at first a trifle. However much I harvested, they ran like sand through my fingers. I thought I had erred in coming to this region. The source of the Circle!

“But I was wrong. I knew too little of this human world. Your will gave birth to the Circle and gives you the strength to turn the Great Wheels of Inculpation. It is a power beyond anything I dreamed of. The craving that rises from your will to live is great and mighty.”

Kotaro felt the strength of Galla’s emotion, yet her tone contained no hint of admiration.

“You humans are powerful, but you are also defiled.” She turned to face him. “Were you not troubled?”

“By what?”

“His words. He spoke of your fangs. All who enter this place see with my eyes. That is why he saw your true face—the words that give form to your Shadow. That Shadow has fangs.”

“Makoto’s Shadow was a giant,” Kotaro said. Galla nodded. “I wonder … is my Shadow a werewolf? Or a hound? They have fangs. I think it’s perfect for me. I mean, Yuriko’s a wolf too. ’Cause she’s a hunter.”

“Wolves pursue. They do not hunt. They seek to return to the Nameless Land those who have escaped, who have breached the seals meant to keep them there. Their task is eternal and it is fruitless. They are unbound by time and can cross the gap between regions. They are deathless, and they are everywhere. Yet they are also nowhere, for they do not exist, though they are real,” Galla said. “The girl who appeared before you is already becoming a phantom. That is the fate of wolves. As they pursue, their existence slips away, little by little. Would you join them?”

Kotaro returned Galla’s stare. “I’ll tell you after I find the truth behind the last two murders. You can wait, can’t you?”

Galla’s reply was to spread her wings and rise into the air. She hovered over Kotaro’s head, black wings beating, and dropped toward him like a stone. In his mind, she spoke.

You will regret this.

Galla’s voice was still ringing in his ears when Kotaro realized he was standing at the front door of his house, next to the mailbox. He felt like someone waking from an episode of sleepwalking, but he had his shoes on. The night was warm and stifling.

The front door was unlocked. He stepped inside. The sound of the TV came from the living room, and the voices of his father and mother. He raced upstairs. The clock in his room said five past nine.

So this was what it was like to travel to Galla’s sanctum and return. There was a gap in his memory of the evening; he didn’t remember actually going to Totsuka. His head felt stuffed with straw.

His pack with all his gear was in his room. Nothing was missing. His phone was where he had left it in one of the outside pockets. He was reaching for it when it started ringing. The display showed Shigenori’s number.

“Hey, detective. Are you back in Tokyo?”

There was a pause followed by an explosion on the other end of the line.

“What the hell are you talking about? I’ve been calling you for hours. Where’ve you been?”

“Ah, um … that’s hard to explain. Do you know what a sanctum is?”

They debriefed each other. Shigenori was still hot under the collar. He couldn’t fathom why Kotaro had gone off on his own with another kangaroo court.

“Why didn’t you force him to turn himself in?”

“There wasn’t time for that! What if he ran away?”

Shigenori wasn’t fazed by his description of Galla’s sanctum. Instead, he had news that left Kotaro much more surprised.

“She let me use her power for just a moment. I could tell who the killers were by touching the wishes they wrote for the Star Festival. I didn’t ask her. She just gave it to me. Let me tell you, I’ve had enough of this stuff.”

“Why? She helped you.”

“Whatever. I’ve still had enough. It’s time for you to come to your senses. Get out of this mess. Go back to your studies.”

“Sorry, can’t. Two more killers to nail.”

“There is no Serial Amputator!”

“I know. We’ve got to destroy the myth.”

“No one even knows who the woman in Akita was. It’s no job for an amateur.”

“Then I’ll tackle the Mishima case. You handle Akita.”

As they were going back and forth, Kotaro’s battery died.
Good timing.

He booted up his PC. There were a few new mails. One was from Makoto. There was a large attachment. The subject line was “I had to check this out.”

I also wanted to understand why you had me hack that site.

Makoto knew his way around the web. He’d used Katsura Florist’s SNS blog to find the sites Kosuke Nakasono frequented, the people he shared information with, even his online payment history.

Turns out that the guy actually had a second IP address.

And walking back the traces from that address led to the two-headed monster.

This site is on BB’s watch list. Your florist seems to have a thing for women’s feet.

A site for foot fetishists. A place where they could exchange tips, stoke each other’s fantasies, and share their thrills. Kotaro mailed back.

Thx Makoto. You can forget about this guy.

That was it. Kotaro leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

Kotaro’s vacation was over, but he was still cutting classes. It wasn’t helping his grades. He’d spent the rest of his ten days collecting and collating information about the last two cases, but time ran out before he had a chance to visit Mishima, much less Akita.

Ayuko’s murder had left a void that could not be filled, but somehow Kumar limped along. It was like a twin-engined aircraft with one engine flamed out. The loss of its founder made planning for the long term impossible. The plane had to land somewhere for repairs. Closing the Tokyo office and moving to Sapporo would be the chance for a needed breather.

The police were leaving Seigo alone, but his time was taken up visiting Kumar’s banks and conferring with clients. He wasn’t in the best of moods, and delegated most of the day-to-day management to his island chiefs.

Seigo wasn’t the only one acting different. A handful of regular and part-time staff had already quit, and a few of the chiefs had announced they wouldn’t be going north. The vibe was confused and unsettled. It had been like this for weeks, but Kotaro had been too preoccupied to pay much attention.

Without Ayuko, even Kotaro was losing his attachment to Kumar. Kaname planned to stay till the end, then concentrate on her studies.

“Hope things go well in Hokkaido,” she said to Makoto.

“Thanks. Come visit anytime.”

Kotaro and Makoto had made their peace since their “transaction” at the tea caddy building. Now they worked hard and competed to see who could make Kaname laugh.

Finally a day came that started out like any other. The three of them were on break in the lounge, shooting the breeze, when an employee staring at her tablet and munching on a sandwich gasped in surprise.

“Look at this—arrests in Tomakomai!”

Kaname and Makoto were shocked into silence. The three of them crowded around the tablet.

“It’s the Serial Amputator!” Makoto said breathlessly.

“Well, I’m not sure. It doesn’t say that,” said the tablet owner. The news feed had a one-line headline.

ARRESTS IN MURDER OF TOMAKOMAI IZAKAYA OWNER:
UNCLE AND COUSIN

Things heated up quickly. The islands competed keenly to find the latest scraps of information. Everyone assumed that the arrest of suspects in this case almost certainly meant that Ayuko’s killers had been found.

No, you’re wrong. You’re all wrong!

He wanted to shout it from the rooftops, but Kotaro thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans, gave the tumult a cool gaze, closed his ears, and immersed himself in his monitoring.

Two hours later, Seigo sent everyone an email. The men arrested in Tomakomai had nothing to do with Ayuko’s murder, or with the statement sent to the media. Tomakomai Central Police Department hadn’t made an official announcement, but he had this information from the special investigation unit in Tokyo. Everyone should calm down and focus on their work.

It was seven by the time Kotaro got home. Asako—and Kazumi, who’d lately been even ruder than usual—were glued to the TV. Making dinner didn’t look likely to happen anytime soon. Every network was running special coverage of the arrests.

“Hey guys. When’s dinner?”

His mother and sister looked at him with astonishment.

“Kotaro, haven’t you heard? They caught the Serial Amputators!” Kazumi said, pointing to the TV.

“They’re the ones who did that awful thing to the president of your company,” Asako added.

“Nah, it’s not them. Don’t jump to conclusions.”

They gaped at him with total incomprehension. Kazumi’s finger was frozen, pointed at the television.

“The guys in Tomakomai didn’t kill Ayuko Yamashina,” Kotaro added. “You ought to listen better. The police haven’t said a single thing about the Serial Amputator, have they?”

“But, but …”

The networks reported that Shiro Nakanome’s uncle and cousin had murdered him because of a conflict over the right to manage the izakaya. There were more details on the web that hadn’t made it to television, but they were from established sites that didn’t usually blow smoke.